Fully Exposed
by muneca0404
Summary: A famous musician and an iconic photographer. A story about finding yourself , moving on and following your dreams. Strong Independent Bella, Slighty unstable/ possessive Edward.
1. Chapter 1

**Brief Summary: Edward is a famous musician (Think of a younger, more attractive Eminem) Bella is a renowned photographer. The two have never met, but Edward's 16 year old niece is an aspiring photographer and talks Edward into pulling a few strings so she can get a one on one mentorship with Bella. Rated M for Language and adult situations. **

**AN: I am writing this story for dear friend of mine who has been begging me to write it. Jax, this one is for you, I hope you love it….**

***I don't own Twilight. Darn…..moving on. **

**This story has already been outlined and I have a rough draft saved on my computer. I will be updating when I can (hoping weekly…but sometimes life gets in the way) **

|**Edward|**

I had spent the last twenty minutes looking for a pen. Any pen. Fuck, I would settle for a crayon or a piece of chalk or a sharpie marker at this point. I may even resort to stealing one of Libby's makeup pencils at this point. I know she has a shit ton of those pencil things because she is always wearing makeup nowadays. Not that I encourage it. I don't. If I could, I would flush all that shit down the toilet and make her walk around dressed like a nun until she's forty…..or until I die. Whichever comes first. Unfortunately for me, she is the most stubborn 16 year old girl that ever existed and she has me wrapped around her finger. Libby is my oldest brother's daughter, but I have practically raised her. Carl and Esme couldn't keep a fucking plant alive if the fate of the free world depended on it, let alone a human being. Not saying that I'm perfect or anything. Shit, anyone who has listened to my music knows I have issues. But I have money and house and a large security team that I pay to watch Libby like a hawk whenever I am away. Despite my less than perfect tendencies and a career that requires me to be absent most of the time, I really do have her best interest in mind. Giving up on my search for a pen, I make my way up the stairs to Libby's room.

I always feel like a stranger whenever I first come home from a long tour. I bought our house on a large piece of land that is heavily guarded and away from all the shit that happens in Chicago. It cost a fucking fortune and I barely even live in it. Its 7:15 in the morning and I haven't been up this early in almost a year. Today is the first day of the school year for Libby and I thought I could give the guardian gig a try. I woke up at 6:30 in the morning, started breakfast…also known as _pop tarts_. I returned some emails to Alice and then noticed a permission slip for Libby's photography class sitting on the computer desk. Reading over the slip, I surmise they are going to some fancy ass museum to look at a bunch of photos some dead guy took. This is when I started looking for the pen. Libby has to be ready to go by 8:30 and I haven't heard a single peep from upstairs. I know she was up late last night picking out her clothes and all that other shit that girls do. She was really excited to go to Cambridge this year. It's a private high school that focuses on the visual arts. It's expensive, over accredited and full of trust fund kids. Considering the fact that I dropped out of high school, I really am in no place to judge, but I think it's absolutely ridiculous that they charge this much money for an education. I don't mind paying the money, I have it and I want to do everything for Libby that I can. I just hate dealing with the stuck up staff that runs that place. As I finally reach the top of the large staircase, I make my way down the hall to Libby's room. I know she is awake from the light spilling out from under the door, as well as the sound of a blow-dryer.

_Why do girls need blow-dryers?_ _Can't they just take a shower the night before and skip the extra trouble of drying their hair every morning?_

I tap my knuckles against her door a few times to get her attention. She clearly cannot hear me over the sound of her annoying ass blow-dryer. I tap again, this time louder. Libby swings the door open with a smirk on her face.

"Wow, Uncle E. I didn't expect to see you up and around this early. What's up?" She retreats back into her room, leaving the door open.

"I get up early sometimes." I say defensively while walking in.

I immediately spot her makeup collection scattered out across her glass vanity table across the room. I make my way over to the vanity and begin rummaging through the many unidentifiable products. There is eye pencils, eye cream, eye powder, and a half dozen other eye products.

"How much shit can one person put on their fuckin' eyes" I mutter to myself while looking for something suitable to sign my name with.

I find a skinny black stick that twist's up from the bottom and examine the tip. It looks like it will do the job. I lay the permission slip down on the top of the vanity and carefully sign my name on the line reserved for the parent or guardian.

"You know E…. they have these neat little contraptions that are used specifically for signing one's name. They call them pencils." Libby snarks from over my shoulder.

I take the paper off the vanity and hand it to her.

"You don't say! The things they come up with now days….you know I heard they have these things called boarding schools where nuns and students reside in perfect harmony…." I am cut off by a hard punch to the shoulder that is actually quite painful considering the girl who delivered the blow is 5'4" and weighs a buck ten.

"You wouldn't dare send me to Saint Paul's and you know it!" She says confidently.

I rub the sore spot on my shoulder while scowling at her.

"I might. I don't think girls at Saint Paul's wear this much makeup" I say, waiving my hand at the pile of cosmetic products on her vanity.

"What do you need this much makeup for anyways? You got a boyfriend or something I should know about?" I raise my eyebrow in suspicion.

Libby blushes a bright red and hastily turns her back on me. She begins piling books into her backpack, ignoring my question. I feel my heart start to beat faster and my eyes bulge out of head.

"You do!" I accuse.

_Shit, you knew this was coming. She's sixteen for crying out loud. Sixteen year olds date and shit. You were doing way more than dating…. _

I quickly end that train of thought, not even wanting to think about it.

"So, uh, I don't know…..maybe we should uh…have a…you know. A talk….about boys and sh-stuff." I say awkwardly, running my hands through my hair.

Libby turns around slowly. "I so hope you aren't trying to have a sex talk with me right now because it's so not gonna happen. I know what I need to know and that's that." She dismisses the idea.

I'm not really sure what she knows and doesn't know and I hope she doesn't know a whole lot, or maybe I hope she knows a lot, then I won't have to explain as much. I just don't fuckin' know.

"Look Libby, I know it's weird and shit, but my mom didn't really explain anything to me and well, I am your guardian and that is my job and…..well, do you at least know about condoms and being safe and….." I trail off, not really sure how to say it without embarrassing her and myself.

This parenting shit just got even harder. I could really use a drink and it's not even eight in the morning yet. This was not a conversation I planned on having with her this morning. It actually not one I planned on having with her at all. I think I was planning on having Kathy talk to her about this stuff. Too bad Kathy checked out the same as Carl and Esme and left me with all the shit to deal with. While my ex wife is up partying and snorting god knows what, I am here contemplating the appropriate way to talk to a sixteen year old girl about safe sex. "Look Uncle Eddie, I know about sex and condoms and all the others things the health teacher tells you during sex education week. _Please_ don't embarrass either one of us any further." She rushes out while slinging her bag over her shoulder and stalking towards her open door. Before I know it, I can hear her feet carrying her down the stairs. She calls up from halfway down the stairs

"Mrs. Cope is going to drop me off at school today. See you when I get home!" I hear the front door close moments later.

I slowly make my way over to Libby's bed and sit down with a huff. I go to run both hands through my hair and realize I still have the permission slip for Libby's field trip to the museum. _Shit ._I guess I will be making a trip to her school after all.

_Maybe I can track down the little fucker she's dating and scare him a little. _

Making my way back down the stairs, I head for the kitchen. After eating a couple of _pop tarts_ and a glass of orange juice, I quickly shave, shower and get dressed. I'm not planning on going anywhere too public, but I still wear a black beanie and a pair of sunglasses, just to make sure I am not spotted. The media is a bitch to get around sometimes. Especially right now. Kathy and I just finalized our divorce three months ago and the media is still in a frenzy over the controversial court paperwork that was released to the public last week. My music is a fairly accurate representation of my life. It's a very unconventional thing for any artist to do, be so upfront about their real life and the problems they have. It has caused a lot of drama over the years. What really bothers me is when Libby's name get's brought into it. I pay a lot of money to a P.R agency to keep Libby out of the media. I don't want her in the spotlight. I just want her to have the life I never had.

Thirty minutes later, I pull up in front of a large brick building located a few miles on the outskirts of Chicago. It sits on a large piece of land and is meticulously landscaped. It is the Middle of February and everything is frozen solid, but their grass is still green. I park in the visitors section at_ Cambridge Art Academy. _I make my way to the front of the building and swing open the large brass door. There is a security team in black suits located in the front entrance. They stop be immediately and ask for my ID and the name of my child as well as my reason for visiting. I give them the required information and smirk at the look on their faces when they realize who I am. I speak with the receptionist at the front desk. Her name plate says her name is Jessica Stanley. I explain my dilemma with the permission slip for Libby's photography class, and Jessica promises to have it delivered to the correct teacher by the end of the day. I get back into my black SUV and make my way towards the shopping district.

I missed Libby's birthday last week and wanted to pick something up for her as a late birthday present. I know exactly where I am going. I turn left on River Avenue and pull up next to_ Eclectica. _It's a camera store that sells new and vintage camera equipment. I know Libby really likes the old film lenses. She says it gives some of the photos a very distinct look. I am not here for vintage lenses though. Since Libby is starting at Cambridge, I decided I wanted to buy her a new DSLR camera. Her current camera is nice, but it's not a full frame camera and I know she is ready for an upgrade. I have been paying attention to the photos she takes and I have watched her grow over the years. She has a passion for it that I can understand. It is the same passion I have for music. Unfortunately, I don't really know a lot about cameras. I wait patiently for the store clerk to finish helping a customer so I can ask his opinion on what camera to buy. While I am waiting, I decide to browse around. There are so many different cameras to choose from, it's a bit overwhelming and reminds me of Libby's makeup collection. Again, I have to wonder why the fuck there is so many different options to choose from. I pick up a camera that looks nice. It's heavier than Libby's and quite larger too. It has the _Nikon_ logo on the front of it and a smaller D700 logo on the side. I put the viewfinder up to my eye and look through the tiny square. I don't see anything but black. I start to put the camera back down when a voice to the left of me speaks.

"The D700 is a really nice camera. It's what I shoot with most of the time." A petite brunette says.

I take a moment to look her over. She is shorter than Libby by a couple of inches, maybe only 5'2" at the most. She has a petite frame and is wearing the tightest pair of jeans I have ever seen on a woman. My eyes slowly travel up from her jean clad legs to her hips and then her waste. She is wearing an off white top that hugs her curves and showcases a pair of C-cup breast. Her neck is long and slender and draws me further up. When I finally reach her face I notice a slight dusting of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Her hazel eyes are framed perfectly by her long eyelashes. I notice her eyebrow is quirked up in an irritated expression once I stop checking her out. She's hot enough I guess, but she clearly has an attitude problem. Way more trouble than any woman is worth. I would know.

"You a photographer?" I question her.

She drops her annoyed expression and nods slightly.

"Yeah, I am. Are you just starting out in photography or…" she trails off.

"No. I am looking for a camera for my niece. She is ready for an upgrade. I don't really know anything, other than the fact that she wants' a full frame camera" I explain.

The brunette seems contemplative while she eyes me down. I am still wearing my beanie and the dark sunglasses and I can see her eyes trying to penetrate the dark tinting to see what is behind them. I am just about ready to ask if she is OK when I hear the opening chorus to a very obnoxious pop hit, the offensive noise is coming from her pocket. She glances down quickly and reaches back to put her cell phone from the back pocket of her skin tight jeans. She glances at the screen before turning back to me.

"Get the D700. Your niece will absolutely love it. I promise." She says before holding the phone up to her ear and answering her caller.

She offers me a brief glance before she turns around to exit the shop.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I still don't own twilight. S.M does. **

**I am looking for a beta, if anyone is interested. **

**On we go….**

**|Bella|**

This is my favorite time of the day, early morning. Everything is calm and still and the studio has a magical quality to it. I step into my large warehouse flat and look around. The building used to be an old fabric warehouse back in the mid 1950's. It had seen better days when I decided to buy it. It has an urban charm to it that most people overlook.

The exterior is made out of faded red brick. It stands as tall as a two story building, but only houses one level. This is the main reason I loved it. On the west side of the building, there is one large floor- to- ceiling glass window that lets in an exceptional amount of natural light. This is my favorite spot to set up for shots. The interior is nothing fancy. The walls are concrete, and in some places there are patches of exposed brick. I recently had a beautiful mahogany wood floor installed. The space is large and open and everything flows together. I have several set up's throughout the studio, some consist of a simple backdrop and some are more opulent. The far left wall is covered with large canvases of my favorite pieces I have done throughout the years, as well as my awards and publications. I mostly use the east side of the warehouse to store all of the props and equipment that I am not using. Antique chairs, winged sofas, baskets, buckets, stools, backdrops and floor drops in every color. I suppose I would come across as a packrat to anyone who isn't familiar with fine art portraiture and the many pieces that are used to achieve a desired look. I take a few steps farther into the warehouse and flip the lights on as I go. The building comes to life as everything becomes illuminated by the horrendous florescent lights that hang down from the ceiling from long steel cables. I refuse to shoot with florescent lighting, that's why most of the time; the lights remain off while I am in the studio. We have several light stands and soft boxes set up throughout the studio. They put out a soft diffused light that is perfect for photographing. My computer is located in the far right corner of the large space; it sits on a simple desk and is open to the rest of the room. I make my way over to it, flipping it on as soon as I take a seat. I am behind on my editing and I have a publication due in two days. I may have been slacking. Instead of staying in late and post processing all the images from the session, I went out with Rose and the rest of the crew to have a few drinks. A few drinks turned into a few more and I now have a raging hangover and at least six hours of editing ahead of me.

_You may as well get comfortable. _

I pull out my cell phone from my brown leather camera bag and look at the time. It's just going on seven in the morning. I have an hour before the crew will start stumbling in, as hangover as me.

I have five people on my payroll at the moment. Jake is my equipment operator. He moved all the heavy equipment and furniture to the correct places and makes sure everything is secure and stable. Rosalie is my best friend and my receptionist. She deals with all of the phone calls, walk- in's and appointment bookings. I don't know what I would do without her. Angela is my assistant. She helps tweak things around during my sessions and is especially helpful when I am posing newborns or older babies. Ben is my manager. He deals with all the social crap that I hate dealing with. He keeps my work up to date and in the hottest magazines. He markets my work and stems the flow of calls for interviews, mentorships and photography advice. Not that I don't enjoy helping others who are just starting out. I really love mentoring in fact. I just cannot help everyone and it becomes too much to deal with after a while. I answer emails on a weekly basis from other photographers who have questions and want insight. I just cannot answer them all. Most of them ask what equipment I use, what my camera setting are for a particular image, how I get the lighting the way it is or how I managed to make my photography business successful. After a while I just put a section on my website that list's all my equipment and some pointers for shooting and post processing images. This helped a little, but I still get a ton of emails and calls weekly. Alec is my tech guy. He deals with my entire website, social media and blog updates. He rarely comes into the studio though, unless he needs something in particular. I let him work from home.

I am currently working on a maternity shoot that is going to be published in Vanity Fair with an article about the celebrity baby boom. Apparently, everyone is having babies left and right and in case someone hasn't noticed, Vanity Fair wants to create an article to inform the masses. I could care less about the article. I only care about the photos. I open up Photoshop CS6 on my computer and access the files from yesterdays shoot. Heidi Valdez is a world famous model who is having her first baby in a month. If you ask me, she is a tad bit too skinny and toned for someone who is getting ready to give birth, but my opinion doesn't matter. She was an excellent model during the session and I got some breathtaking images with her and her fiancé, famous soccer player Demetrio Agresti. I chose a simple beige background for the majority of the session. Heidi wore a simple pair of off white lace booty shorts and a piece of lace fabric wrapped artfully around her breasts. Demetrio donned a pair of faded and ripped designer jeans that hung low on his narrow hips and showcases his toned body. Some of the images were more contemporary, with a simple hand placed over a bulging belly. Some were much more sexual. My favorite was a shot of the couple on a four poster bed that was covered in simple white cotton sheets. Demetrio was leaned back against the headboard with his soon to be wife sitting between his legs. He had his head dipped down, as if to whisper a secret in her ear. Her head rested back on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed and her lips had a slight pout to them. Demetrio's thumbs were hooked into the front of Heidi's lace boy shorts, the weight tugging them down just a hint.

I already knew I wanted this image to be in a stark black and white. I started a new layer in Photoshop and began adjusting the levels accordingly. When I was satisfied with my work, I added my favorite black and white action to the photo and saved the image onto my hard drive. It was one for the walls. I would have to ask Rose to order a canvas print for the studio.

At 8:00 am on the dot, Rose slides open the large metal door to the studio and drags herself across the room to my desk. Her hair is up in a messy bun and she is wearing her largest pair of _Prada_ sunglasses. She is unusually dressed down, wearing a pair of artfully faded skinny jeans and a red v-neck t shirt. She has fluffy white slippers on her feet.

"I feel like shit" She groans loudly. Taking her sunglasses off and wincing at the bright florescent lights.

I try to hide my amused smirk while taking the _Starbucks_ cup she is holding out to me.

"Yeah… well you look like shit too." I say with a snort.

"What the hell happened to you last night? I tried calling you and you never answered." I say with a raise of my brow.

Rose lets out another groan before plopping down onto my desk.

"Royce" She says before taking a sip of her coffee.

Royce King is Rose's on again and then off again boyfriend. They are usually only on again when Rose is drunk. Lately she has been seeing him more and more and I have to wonder what is going on that is making her return to old habits.

"Isn't this like the third night this month you have spend with him? What's up with that?" I am not ashamed of being nosy. Rose and I share just about ever dirty secret there is with one another. We have been friends since college. She was the first model I ever had the opportunity to photograph and we hit it off right away. She doesn't model anymore, not that she couldn't. She is absolutely gorgeous in every meaning of the word. Now she helps out at the studio and teaches yoga three times a week at the local rec center. She claims she is happy but I don't believe her. Something is not right. Her eyes are tired and she has dark bags underneath them, her eyes don't sparkle that familiar aqua marine blue and her jeans are a little too loose. I don't know what she is hiding from me, but if she is hiding it, it must be bad.

Before I can dig any deeper, Jake comes walking in. He is dressed in his usual dark jeans, white cotton shirt and motorcycle boots. His hair is perfectly coifed and his russet skin has a slight luminance to it. He places his bike helmet in the small utility closet next to the bathroom and turns toward us.

He doesn't show any outward signs of being hung-over or tired.

_Asshole._

"Good morning ladies." Jake smirks.

"Not looking so hot there Bells, one too many tequilas?"

"I hate you Jake."

"No you don't. You're just jealous."

"Only of your ability to handle copious amounts of hard liquor and still show up to work looking like one of those well rested assholes on the Tempur-Pedic commercials."

"Maybe it's because I have a Tempur-Pedic mattress" he winks.

"You're lying" I narrow my eyes in suspicion.

"Well maybe if you took me up on that offer, you might find out." Jake counters with a cheeky grin.

Rose perks up at that statement, moving her gaze from Jake to me and then back again.

"What offer?" Rose's eyes flash with mischief.

I blush ten shades darker and turn my head, feigning a sudden interest in my computer screen.

I cannot believe he had the balls to mention it after so long.

During my sophomore year in college, I met Jake at a frat party my roommate had taken me to. I may have drank a little too much.

OK…yeah. I drank way too much.

One thing led to another and the next thing I know I was half naked in some frat guys room, rehearsing to become the number one slut on campus. I can remember the exact moment I knew it was going to all go bad and backfire on me. Backfire it did. Somewhere between alcohol induced kisses and my top being removed, I felt a sudden wave of nausea. I set up quickly, throwing Jake off of me in the process. The room was spinning and I felt off balance. Knowing I wasn't going to make it to a bathroom in time, I grabbed the wastebasket located next to Jake's computer desk and heaved into it.

Sexy, I know.

Jake and I slowly became friends over time, seeing each other at the same social events and running in the same circles. We both chose to ignore the awful memory of our drunken night. But the sexual attraction just wasn't there. At least not for me.

Last spring had been a busy time for me, I had just scored an ad campaign with _True Religion, _bought the new studio and was going through a divorce. After hitting up a few clubs one night with Rose, Jessica and Lauren, I was sufficiently drunk. I called Jake to come pick me, Rose and Jessica up after Lauren ditched us for some guy she had picked up a few clubs back. Jake dropped Rose and Jess off first, since they lived on the other side of town. I told Jake to drop me by the studio. My car was still in the parking lot and I could sleep it off in the studio and head home in the morning. What really ended up happening was vastly different from what I had planned.

I had somehow misplaced my keys at the club and was unable to get into my studio or my car. Jake offered to drop me off at home instead. At this point I was really feeling the alcohol. The rest of the night is a fuzzy blur. All I know is that I woke up in my bed, next to a very naked Jacob Black. The only reminders I had of the events that happened that evening were a large hickey on the side of my neck and a used condom in the bathroom wastebasket. It must have been a memorable night for Jake though, because he hasn't stopped asking me out on dates or to his house ever since. He doesn't mind my rejection at all it seems. He is persistent but not in an obnoxious way, and for that I am grateful. A part of me wishes I could feel that same attraction for Jake. My life would be so much easier. He is a great guy. He is sweet and caring and hilarious. He may be somewhat promiscuous at times but I have seen him hold down a couple serious relationships in the past. He is reliable and stable and everything a woman my age should be looking for in a partner.

But the spark is just not there. Having already had one failed marriage, I don't want to travel down that road again.

The studio phone begins to ring, bringing me out of my head.

"Me and you will discuss this later" Rose points her finger at me before heading off to answer the phone.

"Sorry, Bella. I thought she knew" Jake says sheepishly. I can also detect a touch of hurt in his eyes. It takes me a moment to gather my words. When I look up to reply to Jake, he has already left.

_Way to go Bella._

I spend the rest of the afternoon editing and retouching photos. At noon, Rose saunters back over to me. At first I feel anxious because I really don't want to recount the entire events of my drunken night with Jake. Lucky for me, she doesn't even mention it. Instead she informs me that my photography apprentice is unable to travel to Chicago.

"She said she really was looking forward to doing the mentorship but she thinks it is more important to focus on her pregnancy at this time." Rose finishes explaining the extenuating circumstances to me.

"That's too bad. Her work was pretty good. Maybe we could find someone local since we are on such short time now?" I wonder aloud.

"I can contact Cambridge Art Academy. They have some really talented students at that school and I'm sure we can find someone who is up to the challenge" Rose suggests.

"That's a high school right?"

"Yeah, a really prestigious high school with a limited number of students from around the country, Bella. They only accept the best of the best."

"Or the richest of the richest" I counter.

Rose rolls her eyes at me.

"Ok, yeah. Call Cambridge and see what you can do. If this doesn't work out, I can just skip the mentorship program this year." I say while swinging my purse over my shoulder.

"Bella, you can't just skip it. Do you have any idea what the Professional Photographers Association will say about that?"

"So what, one year I don't 'contribute to the photographic art community' I think we will live if I don't mentor someone this year. Plus, I have a good explanation for it not doing it this year, my apprentice got knocked up and can't travel to Chicago" I shrug my shoulders.

"You really want to piss them off more? As if not letting their beloved Jane Turner photograph you wasn't enough!" she huffs.

"Screw them. Jane Turner is a mediocre sell out who doesn't have a stitch of talent. She made her name off of boning members of council and stealing other people's hard earned ideas. I refuse to let that cow profit off of my image in _any _way.

"Besides…..Ben says that from a managers perspective, it gives an illusion of unavailability that makes me that much more popular in the art world. It's good for business."

"Bella" Rose sighs.

"You're giving me gray hairs. Can't you just play by the rules for once? What's the big deal? Let her do your memoir thingy and present it to the art academy at the award show. It's only a few photos and a brief description of who you are as an artist. Besides, don't you want your profile up in the museum? I mean, that's a big deal and very few photographers get offered that prestige!"

"No, Rose I cannot just _play by the rules. _I didn't come this far by _playing by the rules_. I only learned the _rules_ so I could break them in every way imaginable. Those smarmy assholes just hate that I break every photographic rule there is and still do better work than them. I don't want to be an honored photographer in their ridiculous hall of fame. I don't want a memoir and I don't want Jane Turner taking my photo or claiming responsibility for anything that pertains to me and my art! As long as Aro is the head of the council, I will continue to decline the award and the memoir" I slide the metal door to the studio closed a little too hard on my way out of the studio.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: S.M Owns Twilight and all the original characters. **

**This chapter will contain more mature themes and is a little more angsty than most. This story has many twists and turns and these characters are complex. I would like to map out their background so that you get to know them well. I feel like that always makes the story better. This will be a slow burn. There will not be an instant hook up followed by a wedding and five kids. There will be a HEA. I promise. I am still looking for a beta, so forgive any and all grammatical errors. I try my best. I will continue to update frequently. This story is mostly finished, but I am revising and editing and sprucing it up as I go. Reviews, thoughts and opinions are welcome : )**

**|Edward|**

"Man, you have to calm down. I think you're over thinking shit."

"Emmett, I am not over thinking anything. Some guy out there wants to bone my niece! Tell me I don't have a right to clip him?"

Emmett shakes his head, exasperated with me.

"E, man….you don't even know the guy, and if you want Libby to let you meet him….well you're gonna have to suck it up and play nice for a minute."

I know he's right. I just don't want to accept it.

"I bought her a new camera. I'm going to try to bribe some information out of her tomorrow night." I smirk, satisfied with my plan.

"Libby is smart E. You really think she's going to fall for that shit? Why don't you just have a private investigator follow her around and figure out what she is up to every second of the day?"

_I never thought of that. _

Would that be taking it too far? I know Libby would hate me forever if she found out. But it would be perfect now that I think about it.

"Em, man…that didn't even cross my mind. You know any good PI's?" I say, grabbing my phone from my pocket.

Emmett doesn't say anything. He simply stares at me from across the restaurant booth like I'm a moron. He puts his fork down slowly and wipes his mouth with his napkin before turning back to me.

"Edward. You can't be serious man. I was fuckin' kidding! You can't do that to the girl. Think of something else, anything else….just…_not that._"

Again, I know he is right. I can't do that to Libby. It would be wrong and a complete invasion of her privacy. Teenage girls are really particular about having privacy.

"Look man, if you push it too far, she will rebel and want to be with this guy even more. Don't you remember being sixteen at all? It wasn't that long ago. I know you think this is a big deal, but it's not. Sixteen year olds date all the time and Libby is a smart girl, like I said. I am sure this guy isn't so bad if he caught her attention."

"I just worry. Not just about sex, but what if this guy knows who I am and is using her? I know it sounds conceded, but honestly, this shit happens all the time."

"Or maybe, just maybe, this guy thinks she has a nice rack and a pretty smile and wants to get to know her, that happens all the time too." Emmet counters.

_What the fuck does he know anyways?_

He's certainly not an expert when it comes to parenting or taking care of someone else. Emmett has always be a free spirit and annoyingly optimistic. He finds the good in just about every situation. I like to take a much more realistic approach and worry about every tiny thing until my mind feels like it could explode with all the different possibilities, all the things that could, would and should happen. Emmett's just…..Emmett.

"So, I was gonna ask you what you thought about that track I sent you last week. You have a chance to listen to it yet?" He changes the subject, probably sensing my unease.

"No, not yet. I haven't even unpacked my laptop or anything. I was going to go to the studio tonight but I will probably hold off until this weekend. I want to get settled in and straighten some stuff out with Libby."

"When are you planning on recording the next album?" He asks.

"I don't know yet, I'm writing some new material and I think I'm going to take my time. Now that I'm clean, I just really want to put everything into it this time around."

"Have you been going to those NA classes?"

"Not anymore. I don't think I need them. I mean yeah, I get tempted now and again, but I think I'm passed the hard part." I explain.

"That's good to hear man, I'm glad. I gotta be honest…..I was fuckin' worried there for a while…" He trails off.

I find it slightly ironic that at twenty-eight years old, I am dealing with the same thing my mother has her entire life, the reason I hated her so adamantly.

_Addiction._

It's a strange thing, nearly indescribable. I don't know when one beer turned into ten or tequila turned into coke and coke turned into heroine. It just happened somewhere along the line. The nonstop touring and press stops and promotional shit. It was such an easy trap to fall into. If I was to be honest with myself, it was something I had been building up to since I was a kid.

I was numb. I won't lie; sometimes I wish I could be numb again. It's really hard to deal with your shit like an adult after spending half a decade so doped up you can't really feel anything at all. It would be so easy to just turn it all off again.

"Yeah, next month will be the one year mark." I say, throwing down some bills on the table.

Sometimes, the guilt is the worst of all. And the shame. How could I be so much like _her_? How did I become someone I hate and despise? Then I think about Libby and all the shit she has gone through in her life. She deserved so much better.

I tried to hide it from her, and for a while I _was _good at hiding it. Unlike my brother and his wife, Libby's parents, I am a functioning addict. I can snort a few lines and still go about the day. I can still get all the shit done that has to be done in order to keep some sort of stable façade in place.

But after a while, I began to slip. Things weren't getting done and I was starting to not care. My home life, my career, my marriage, everything was falling apart around me. I just didn't care.

The events that led up to my decision to get clean are perhaps the most shameful of all. For years I had stayed with Kathy, because I loved her. I am beginning to realize now that I was probably less in love with her and more in love with the idea of being in love. We met in high school and she came from a similar background as me. Her mom was a drug addict who had three kids from three different men. She grew up in the welfare system. She was just as angry and pissed off at the world as me.

Not exactly the similarities you look for when filling out your compatibility profile on_ eharmony, _I know.

I guess that should have been a red flag right there. Eventually we both spiraled to the point of no return. Her vice of choice was alcohol and pain relaxers. I think we were both so far gone towards the end of our marriage; we were more like strangers than anything.

To make a long story short, I got high one night, went out to a club, and found her kissing another man.

Guns were pulled out and fists were thrown, and she walked away scot free.

I was not so lucky.

When I was arrested, they booked me for possession of drugs, being inebriated in public, and an entire slew of weapons charges. But that wasn't rock bottom. It wasn't enough to make me get clean. I had the money, the connections and the resources. I paid the million dollar bond, hired a great defense attorney and dug myself deeper. I went on a two week bender, filled an entire notebook full of award winning song lyrics and filed for divorce.

Rock bottom was the judge telling me they were going to take Libby away. Emmett telling me he wasn't going to produce my music anymore, and my mother calling me a hypocrite.

Rock bottom was every fan I ever had, now knowing my dirty secret, my hidden skeletons. Every critic I ever had, now had validation for their shitty reviews and pessimistic outlook on me as an artist. Getting clean was hard. Probably the hardest thing I have ever done. Once you get past the withdrawals and the triggers, the worst part comes. The part where you have to reprogram your mind, body and soul to function like a normal human being again. It's hard to feel everything all at once, when you've spent years searching for the one thing that will take it all away. Being numb is easy. Avoiding your problems is easy. Detaching yourself is easy. Everything else is hard.

"If you need someone to talk to E, I'm here for you man." Emmett says while standing up from the booth.

"And leave that poor girl alone about her boyfriend. Let her live a little, would ya?"

"I'll let you know when I am ready to get back in the booth, alright Em?"

"Sounds good man. I have a good feeling about this record. It's going to be one of a kind. I can feel it." He taps his fist against mine before turning to exit the restaurant.

When I get home at a little after three in the afternoon, Libby is in the kitchen eating a peanut butter sandwich while doing some sort of complicated math homework. I don't know why they teach kids this shit nowadays; they are never going to use it.

"What's up Libby bug?"

"Homework, same old sh-stuff." She looks up at me to see if I caught her slip.

"Yeah, I caught it"

"How you liking the new school? Make any friends?"

I'm trying not to question her about her boyfriend.

"Um, ya. It's alright. A lot of competition. There are a ton of really great photographers in my class." She says with a frown.

"There's always going to be competition Libby, just do you. That's the only thing you can do. Be the best _you_ can be." I try to placate her.

"It's just….I don't know. I'm used to being the best in my class I guess. Does that make me shallow?" She questions me.

"No, it makes you human. The fact that you are even questioning your depth means you are far from being shallow. I promise"

She smiles a little.

"Oh! I have something I want to show you!" She says, reaching for her book bag. She pulls out her laptop and begins typing something into the web browser while I make my way around the kitchen island to sit next to her.

I am not expecting to see a modern black and white website with pornographic photos_. _The photos don't show any nudity per say, but they certainly suggest it enough. On the top right corner of the website is a photo of nothing but a woman's leg, it's bent at an elegant angle and there is a masculine hand grasping the ankle.

_Who knew a leg could be so provocative….and sexy._

There really isn't anything too outlandish or vulgar about the photo, but there is a definite sexual connotation linked to the images.

_Is she trying to show me porn? _

This is not the way I planned the sex talk to go at all.

"Um….ok." I say.

"What exactly are you trying to show me?"

"This is B-Swan photography." She says with a giant smile on her face.

"That photographer you're always talking about?"

"Yup, the one and only. She is offering one mentor spot to a Cambridge student this fall, and I want it. Could you imagine how much I could learn from a one on one mentorship with her? She is like a photography god!"

"You mean, you want to learn how to take pornographic photos?" I 'm a little alarmed by this revelation.

I always pictured Libby taking wedding photos of happy couples or…..photos with people who are fully clothed . I would also settle for puppies and dandelions, like she did when she got her first camera. She would run around taking photos of every tiny object. Nothing was too boring or ugly for her. She saw the beauty in everything.

"No, Uncle E. It's not porn." She snorts.

"There is nothing pornographic about these photos. They are sexy, sensual and a little unconventional, but they are not porn."

"Is that what they tell you at your new school?" I say, a little ticked off that my niece just used the word sensual, and in the correct context. I need to get a hold of myself before this all blows up in my face.

"No, I have followed this photographer's work for a long time. She does more than just boudoir photography, you know. She is really good at what she does and she is world renowned." She folds her arms defiantly across her chest.

"Well I don't like the idea of you photographing naked men who go around grabbing women's ankles!" I say a little too harshly.

Libby lets out a loud snort.

"_Their ankles_?! Yes…. because _ankles_ are so inappropriate. We should all walk around dressed like nun's, I mean…_god forbid_ we show our ankles! That would be _so_ inappropriate!" her tone is laced with sarcasm.

"I _want_ to do this. This is all I have _ever _wanted, and I _am_ going to get that mentorship. I am sorry if you don't like it, but I do and there is nothing you can say to change my mind." She slams the lid on her laptop closed, making a move to get up.

"Wait….Libby. Don't storm off. Look, I just…shit. Libby. When did you grow up?"

Her expression softens at my tone.

"Edward. I know what you're doing. You feel guilty about all the crap that went down and you're trying to shelter me. I _don't_ want to be sheltered. I want to live and see and do things. I _don't_ want what happened in the past to tie me down. You can't stop _all_ the bad things from happening. I love you, I do. You're the only person I can count on and you have always been there for me, more than my own parents. But, you have to let me do this. This is _my dream_."

_How is it that she see's right through me_.

I am beginning to wonder if I ever did as good of a job at hiding things from her as I originally thought. Was I so far gone that I failed to see that Libby was becoming her own person? That she was growing up and forming opinions of her own.

Surely, it didn't happen overnight.

This makes me feel like an even bigger piece of shit. While I was out fucking everything up, the nanny and the housekeeper and the security detail where here, in this house, watching her turn into this amazing person and I missed it all.

"Alright, fine. You've made it clear that you want to do this. I want to go with you for the first few days though. Just to check everything out and make sure that it's a good place and that you won't be subjected to anything….inappropriate." I concede.

"Yes! This is going to be awesome! I can't wait!" Libby squeals, throwing herself into my arms for a celebratory hug.

It reminds me of a much different time, when simple things would make her so happy and joyful. I am suddenly reminded of the new camera I purchased for her today.

"Wait right here. I have something I wanted to give you" I say, making my way to the living room. I retrieve the box from the cabinet by the fireplace and bring it into the kitchen.

"I was going to wait until tomorrow to give this to you, but I think you should have it tonight." I place the box on the marble island in front of her.

She stares at the box for a moment before slowly reaching for it. I didn't have time to wrap it; I was planning on doing that this evening. The _Nikon_ logo is prominently displayed in top of the box, making it blaringly obvious what the box contains.

"No f-ing' way!" Libby shouts, tearing the box open and pulling the camera out. She stares at it with a look of awe before cradling it to her chest like a newborn infant.

"I….I love it!"

"You haven't even used it yet, how can you love it?"

"This is the best gift ever" She ignores my question.

"Thank you so much Edward. I can't wait to use it." She gives me another hug.

"I didn't know if your lenses would fit that camera, so I am going to allow you to buy some with your credit card. There were so many different kinds, I didn't know which ones to get" I say after she lets me go.

"Really? I get a credit card veto? What the heck is going on here?" Her face turns suspicious.

"Nothing is going on here. I just wanted to give you a present, since I missed your birthday and all." I run my hand through my hair, suddenly nervous.

"And…?" She questions farther.

I drop my hand from my head and sigh.

"And….I wanted to meet your boyfriend. Maybe get to know him a little. You could have him over for dinner or we can all go out."

"No way."

"Why not?"

"Because you will be mean and scare him away and then I will be a virgin until I turn forty! That's why!"

"So you _are_ a virgin then?"

"What?...yes, I'm a virgin. Thanks for asking." Her attitude has returned.

I sigh in relief this time.

_Thank fucking god._

"Look, I promise to behave myself and not scare this _boy_ away. I just want to meet him and make sure that he is an alright person."

"And what requirements does he have to meet to be considered an _alright person_?"

"Well, I don't know for sure, I guess…. he would have to be kind and respectful and look out for your best interest."

"What if I say no?" She challenges me.

"I can't force you to stop seeing this boy, I know that. I don't want this to become a problem for us. I just want to meet him. It would help me sleep better at night."

She lifts her hand to her mouth and begins chewing on her thumb nail, a nervous habit. After a few moments of contemplation, she speaks.

"Alright. I'll invite him to dinner. _But_….I swear, Edward. You _better_ be nice!" She points her finger at me.

"I promise." I raise both my hands up in a defensive gesture.

"I am going to go fill out the application for the mentorship. Thank you for the camera again. I love it." She picks up her book bag and puts the camera back in the box.

"Wait, so you haven't gotten this mentorship thing for sure yet? You just argued with me over something that might not even happen?" I say, exasperated.

"Oh, it will happen. If it's the last thing I do." She says with an air of certainty.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I don't own Twilight. **

**Thanks to those of you who review. They are greatly appreciated. **

**Apparently there is something wrong with the site. Whenever I upload, it keeps squeezing all my words together into one big mess. I have tried to fix it several times, but it's not working. I am hoping it fixes itself, if not I will try to update this chapter AGAIN.**

**On with the story….**

**|Bella|**

I wake up to the sun shining through the sheer white curtains that hang from the large bay window in my master bedroom.

My bed is big and soft and oh so warm.

I contemplate staying here for another few hours or until Rose calls me to ask where I am at. We are supposed to meet at the studio at nine in the morning, to go over applications for the mentoring program.

Knowing that I won't get any sleep anyways, because Rose will inevitably call and hound me, I get up to prepare for the day. My first stop is the kitchen, where I turn on the coffee pot and then proceed to the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth. I have a meeting with my business accountant today at noon, so I decide to wear a cream colored pencil skirt that end's just above my knees and fits my lower body like a glove. I choose a white cotton camisole to go under my sheer white blouse and pull out my favorite pair of red Giuseppe Zanotti stiletto heels. After a moment of debating, I also add a thin red belt to the ensemble, clasping it just above my waist. I style my hair in a loose bun and apply a small amount of makeup, just a touch of mascara and eyeliner and then my favorite red lipstick.

It takes me all of forty minutes to get ready. I fill my travel mug with coffee before grabbing my car keys from the kitchen counter. When I arrive at the studio, Rose isn't there. How ironic that I will be the one calling and hounding her today. It isn't like Rose to be late. She usually prides herself on her ability to be on time everywhere she go's. Sitting down in my chair, I pull my phone from my leather camera bag that also doubles as a purse. I scroll down to Rose's name on my call history list and press send. It rings three times before I hear the familiar noise of the industrial metal door to the studio sliding open.

"Sorry I'm late."Rose says, sliding the door closed behind her.

"Traffic was a bitch." She explains.

"They really shouldn't have changed the intersection over on 23rd street. It's freaking ridiculous that you can only turn right on the far lane now….." She trails off when she see's my face.

"Spill it Rose."

"Spill what?" She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh, come on! Traffic was a bitch? You can do better than that Rose. You don't look like you've been to bed at all."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I have kept my mouth shut long enough. What the hell is going on! Rose….I'm worried. You can tell me anything. You know that right?" I plead. I see a lone tear make its way down her cheek before she wipes it away.

"Ok, I….just let me sit down." She pulls up a chair to my desk and gets comfortable. I wait patiently while she sips her coffee and pretends to straighten her shirt. I am just about ready to demand an answer when she suddenly speaks.

"I've been having an affair….with a married man." She says in a casual tone, as if she just told me it might rain today.

"What? When? I mean how long? Who…."

"His name is Robert and he said he was leaving her, his wife. But he hasn't. I am beginning to see that he probably never will." she ducks her head when another tear makes an appearance.

"I haven't been with Royce, I lied, I'm so sorry Bella, I just, I'm just so ashamed of myself." A sudden pang of guilt hits me when I realize that she feels guilty for lying to me. Haven't I been lying to her also? Before I can fully plan out what my next words are going to be, my brain decides to tell my mouth to move, and the only words that come out are not what I was planning at all.

"I had sex with Jake!" I practically scream.

Rose's face transforms from guilty, to confused, to shocked in an instant.

"What!" she exclaims.

"When the hell did this happen? Are you two seeing each other?" she says in one easy breath.

"No. It was just a onetime thing. I swear."

"Well…..how was it!" she says impatiently. "I don't remember"

"What do you mean you don't remember!"

"I was drunk. He drove me home, I woke up next to him." I am startled by the unexpected uproar of laughter that comes from roses mouth. She is clutching her stomach and bent over at the waist, almost falling out of her chair.

"Har har har, laugh it up." I take sip from my travel mug and roll my begins to calm herself, wiping the tears from her eyes and straightening her now lopsided shirt. Once she has gained some control, she turns back to me.

"Oh, Bella. I'm sorry, It's just…this type of thing only happens to you."

"What type of thing? A one night stand? Plenty of people have one night stands."

"No, the part where you have sex with Jacob Black and can't even remember it! What a bummer" she says with a look of sympathy on her face.

"I don't like Jake like that. It's probably for the best that I don't remember."

"Bella, a part of you is clearly attracted to him, that's at least twice now that you have fallen into bed with the man."

"Yeah, the drunken, airheaded part of me."

"So… you're only attracted to him when you're drunk?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"That's a shame, I mean, let's face it, Jake is pretty hot." she quirks one eyebrow.

"I won't deny that he is….attractive. I know he is attractive. I'm not blind, Rose. I just don't feel that….spark."

"Unless you're drunk."Rose adds.

"Yeah, so anyways, what are you going to do about Robert?" I try bringing the conversation back to her own dirty revelation. I don't want to see her miserable again, but she clearly needs to talk about it.

"We broke it off last night." She says with a sigh.

"I just couldn't do it anymore."

"Rose, you're not a bad person. If you were, you wouldn't feel so bad."

"I just…..I don't know. Screw men. I'm ready to get back to me. Men suck." Her voice has the ring of finality to it.

"Well, if you need to talk, I'm here." I look her in the eye, letting her know I am being serious.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks Bells." We both sit there in a comfortable silence for a few moments before we get down to business.

"Ok, so…I have a few applications here that may be promising." Rose says, pulling out her_ ipad_ from her large messenger bag. She powers it on and accesses what she is looking for before she hands the _ipad_ over to me.

"The first applicant is an 18 year old senior boy at Cambridge. He doesn't have a lot of portraiture in his portfolio, but his landscape and architectural shots are stunning."

I scroll through the application and read the most important section, the section that tells me what I need to know in order to determine the right candidate. Under the "Reason for wanting to be an apprentice" section of the application, the student has put a fairly generic response.

_I would like to enhance my photography skills and become more familiar with portraiture._

I scroll down to open the image attachments. His photos are all mostly landscape and architectural, like Rose said. Although they are nice, they aren't anything that takes my breath away. I don't see this kid having a passion for what I do; I don't want to waste my time and his. He clearly isn't meant to do portraiture. He will probably go on to photograph vistas and mountains for _National Geographic_.

"Next." I mutter, using my finger to flick over to the next application.

The next application is from a seventeen year old girl who is also a senior at Cambridge. She specializes in portraiture, but her photos lack passion. I have seen this many times before. She is either burned out from photography and has forgotten her passion, or she really isn't interested to begin with. She may have taken photography because she thought it would be easy and she could get a good grade. Judging from her portfolio, I would lean more towards the latter of the two. This process continues on for over an hour, until I have reached the end of the list. I haven't seen one application or one photo that makes me feel inspired to mentor.

"I think we will just skip out this year" I tell Rose with a sigh.

"I thought you would say that…and that is why I saved the best… for last."She says with a smile.

"What are you talking about?"

"Let me pull it up on your computer, the _ipad_ doesn't do it justice." Rose explains, leaning over me to pull something up on my computer.

She finds what she is looking for and then sits back down, allowing me to finally see the computer monitor. There, on my computer screen, is a beautifully haunting photo.

It is a black and white photo of a long sidewalk, taken from down low, almost perfectly level with the ground. The sidewalk is marred with chalk drawing and simple hopscotch squares, In the square farthest from the camera, there is a pair of tiny feet, delicately dancing along the pavement. The owner of the feet is wearing what appears to be a white tea length dress. The sun is low in the sky, probably just before sunset, and it shines from right behind the small child. It causes an eerie glow around the little girl's feet and illuminates the sheer fabric that hangs down and softly billows around her calves. It is amazingly simple, clean and beautiful. It evokes emotion and memories and brings me back to childhood summers.

"Who took this?" I ask Rose.

"Elizabeth M. Cullen" she says, sitting the _ipad_ back down in front of me.

"This is her application" Rose points to the _ipad._

I read through the entire thing at least a half dozen times. Her words are beautiful and well written and show a reverence for photography that may even rival my own.

I am sure she is the rightful owner of the mentorship. I just know it.

"I want her, call her in for an interview. Tell her she starts this Saturday." I say with finality.

I take one last glance at the _ipad _before I notice her age.

"Jesus Rose, this girl is only sixteen years old, according to her birthday, she_ just_ turned sixteen!"

"I know Bella, but she was just so perfect. I figured we could make an exception."

I mull over the idea in my head. She is perfect for the spot. But she is just so young. I cannot imagine a girl that age being able to understand sexuality, sensuality and lust. The majority of my work is boudoir photography. It requires that knowledge. When I was that age, I could not even look at a naked man on the television in the privacy of my own room without blushing.

"I don't know Rose, Maybe next year, when she is a little older." I say with a sigh.

I save the photo as my screen saver on my P.C and start rounding my things up.

"I have an appointment with Randal to go over taxes. Are you going to stick around or…?"

"Yeah, I have to organize the schedule for next week and send out some invoices. I'll call you later"

"Later Rose."

I say as I head towards the door. Before I exit, I turn back to her.

"Are you sure you're going to be OK?" I ask her with a level stare.

"Yeah, Bells. I'll be fine."

I give her a tight smile and exit the studio.

I meet Randal at a swanky martini bar named _The Blue Stem. _It's a frequent hang out of mine and Rose's when it's just us girls. They have a nice relaxed atmosphere and great drink specials on Thursday evenings.

"Bella, good to see you again." Randal greets me with a smile.

I shake his hand before taking my seat at the bar.

"You too Randal. Anything important we need to discuss?"I ask before the bartender arrives.

"I'll have a dirty martini, extra dry." I place my order.

"Nothing too significant, you do a fairly good job at keeping everything in order. However I did want to go over a few transactions that you are missing receipts for." He opens a blue folder that has _ Photography_ written on the front of it.

"Sure, what transactions are you referring to?" I lean forward, peering into the folder.

He pulls out a single sheet of paper and sets it in front of me. There are three transactions that are highlighted in the month of January. I read through them, trying to determine what they could have been for. One is for $1671.86, purchased in January fifteenth. I immediately know that this transaction was for the new 85mm 1.4 G lens that _Nikkor _released in January.

The other transactions are smaller, and I can't remember what they or for.

"It's no worry, I was more concerned about the larger transaction anyways" Randal says.

After my meeting with Randal, I decide to head to the grocery store to do my weekly shopping. I am out of milk and eggs and I also need more laundry soap. My favorite grocery store is just a block from my house; it's a small market that is far less crowded then the larger chain stores in the area. It's also a lot more expensive, but it's worth the extra expense to not have to push your way through crowded spaces and listen to screaming children, only to wait in line for half an hour before you finally reach the checkout stand. I am pushing my cart down the home goods aisle, trying to find my favorite brand of free and clear detergent, when I am interrupted by a familiar presence.

He saunters up to me with that smug smile on his face, and I want to slap it off.

"Hey Bella, long time no see." Mike stops right in front of my cart, making it impossible for me to maneuver away from him.

"Yeah, Mike that's what usually happens when two people get a divorce." I don't make eye contact with him; I continue scanning the shelf for the correct detergent instead.

He places both of his hands on the front of the cart, as if to keep me in place. He can probably see the desire to flee written all over my face.

"What brings you here? Doesn't your new girlfriend live over on Bay Street?" I ask him.

_That's like….11 miles away. _I calculate in my head. _What the fuck is he doing here?_

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that you owned this side of town, Bella."

"Well now you know, asshole" I begin pushing against the cart, making it clear that I want him to move out of my way.

"Why are you still so bitter?"

"Gee Mike, I don't know, maybe because you're a lying cheating asshole who has mommy issues. I wasted a very valuable three years of my life on your sorry ass and I didn't even get a lousy fuckin' tee shirt." I say through my teeth.

"Now, get the fuck out of my way. _Now_."

I push a little harder on the cart, putting all of my weight into it and using the floor as leverage. It doesn't even budge an inch.

"Bella, you were married to your fucking camera, not me. You only have yourself to blame. I wanted a wife, not a roommate"

"Yeah, no. You wanted someone who is just like your mother. You wanted someone to be at your beck and call and dote on you like you hung the fuckin' moon!"

"What's wrong with wanting that? My mother is a good wife, a good mother; she took good care of me and my father. It's not like it's a horrible thing to be a good wife and homemaker Bella!"

"I don't want to be anyone's doormat Michael. We already discussed this; we discussed it before the divorce, during the divorce and after the divorce. I am done discussing it with you." I begin to realize he is not going to give up.

I sigh, grabbing my purse from the cart; I turn around and walk down the aisle. I hear him calling my name as I exit the store. I don't even bother looking back.

Once I am back at my house, without the groceries I wanted. I sit down on the couch and turn the T.V on. I'm not really watching it; it's just something to fill the silence. I look around at the place I call home and wonder where I went wrong.

I'm twenty-six years old and divorced. My career is at its peak, I'm independent, financially stable, and have everything I ever wanted. I am also indescribably lonely. This is not how I thought my personal life would end up. I had a plan, goals, hopes and dreams.

I just chose the wrong man to share them with.

I had wanted an equal partner; instead I got a demanding dictator.

I wanted a lover, and instead he turned out to be the person I hate the most in this world.

I wanted a companion, but he was the worst company to keep.

I wanted a baby, or two. I really did. I thought that by this time in my life I would at least be planning a pregnancy. Now I don't even have a potential partner in sight. Life sucks.

That is the moral behind this mini pity party of mine.

My cell phone rings, bringing me out of my senseless wallowing. The screen reads _Charlie_.

"Hi dad." I say as soon as I answer.

"Hey kid, I haven't heard from you in a while, just wanted to see how you're doing over there in the big city."

"Yeah, sorry. I just got really busy at work and forgot to keep in touch. I'm doing well though." I respond.

"That good, so how's your business doing?"

"It's doing really great, dad. I really love my job"

"I'm so proud of you Bella. Not many people can make a business work at such a young age. I just wanted to ask you if you are coming for a visit this summer. June is almost here and I was going to take the boat out of storage. I thought we could maybe plan a camping trip when you come."

_Shit_

"Yeah, dad. That sounds great. I don't know when I will be making a trip home yet. I have a pretty full schedule for this summer but I'll get a hold of you soon and let you know when I can make it"

"Alright Bells, I'll let you get back to it then. I miss you kid", He says gruffly, not much for heartfelt goodbyes.

"I miss you too dad. Talk to you later."

"Take care." He ends the call.

I pull up the calendar on my_ iphone_ and look for an open weekend that I can take off to make a trip to Washington. I don't have the mentorship to do anymore, so that will free up some time. I will have to ask Rose when I go to the studio tomorrow, just to make sure. She is in charge of all the scheduling.

I turn my attention to the T.V for the first time this evening. I'm watching one of those ridiculous celebrity gossip programs. They are currently featuring a story about rapper, E. Cullen and his ex wife. Apparently the court documents were leaked to the public and they were full of accusations from both parties. I listen to the commentator spill someone's personal business to the rest of the nation. I can't help but be intrigued. It's human nature, I suppose.

They roll a clip of an extremely scrawny blonde woman standing on the front steps of what appears to be a courthouse. She is yelling in her ex husbands face. The cameras are jockeying for position, all of them trying to get the best picture to sell to the magazines and post on their shitty blogs. The entire scene reminds me of a _Jerry Springer_ episode. The woman is an absolute nut job. Her head is practically spinning around while she screams unintelligible words. I keep waiting for her to puke green slime and do the bridge walk down the stairs. Thoroughly disgusted with myself for watching this nonsense, I turn the T.V off with a scowl.

I decide to call it a night. As I am lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, all I can hope for is a better day in the morning. ************************************************** ************************* ************************************************** *****

I am rudely awoken by the sound of my cell phone ringing nonstop.

I look at the alarm clock that sits on my bedside table and scowl at the time.

_6:15 in the damn morning._

I don't even bother looking at the name on the screen; I simply slide my finger across the bar to accept the call.

"Yeah?" I answer, a little testy.

"Hey Bella, its Ben, I need to talk to you for a moment. I apologize about the time but I am getting ready to board a plane to Utah in a few minutes and wanted to speak with you before I do. I sit up, trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes. "Alright, what's up?"

"I wanted to know why I am hearing around the grapevine that you have decided to not do the mentorship program this year. You need to tell me these things, Bella, so I can be in the know and be ready for damage control. I don't like being caught off guard. As your agent, I am going to strongly advise you to not go through with this. It makes you look bad, like a pompous, spoiled brat who thinks she is too good to contribute to the art community. You should consider this carefully. Once you decide to go against the grain, there is no going back. Are you prepared for the potential repercussions of this decision?"

_Looks like today is not going to be a good one after all._

"Look Ben, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just decided yesterday that I am going to skip it this year. My apprentice decided to get pregnant and is unable to travel to Chicago. I looked for a local replacement and I couldn't really find anyone, so I made a decision and that decision is final." I can hear Ben's irritated sigh on the other end of the phone. I hear a woman's voice call out for flight 184 to Utah.

"Alright Bella, can we talk more about this when I get back to Chicago?"

"There's really not a lot to discuss, but sure. Swing by the studio when you get the chance."

"Thanks' Bella, I'll be in touch soon." The line disconnects before I can respond.


End file.
